Love, Music, & Error
by Phantasma'sRose
Summary: What if the whole Angel of Music theory never existed? Christine and Erik are friends of a sort, but Erik isn't sure he wants to be just a friend.
1. Chapter 1

Christine's POV

I clutched my bag to my chest as I walked up the stairs of the opera next to Madame Giry. The huge building towered above us, a large mass of stone and marble rising above all other buildings on the block. I felt out of place in my ragged old dress amongst all of the grandeur here.

Madame Giry motioned inside and I walked in, her trailing behind me. The interior of the opera was even more glorious. Everything was made of polished marble and gold, intricate sculptures and carvings line the walls and go up the sweeping staircase in the foyer. My eyes still wide in amazement, drinking in the scene around me, I followed Madame through a hallway to the right. We stopped at a tall oak door. Madame opened it and I followed behind her in her wake.

The man sitting at the desk was wiry and had a pinched face. He also looked to be wearing a fake hairpiece hanging lopsided off of his head. If this wasn't a bad day, I'd hate to see him on one. He looked up with a bored expression when the door slammed behind us.

"Ah, is this the young lady whose father used to work here?" he asked, putting down his pen to listen.

"Yes monsieur." I answered as bravely as I could muster. "I too lived here when I was a child, before we moved."

"Do you remember anything mademoiselle?" He looked hopeful, for what reason I was unsure of. "Anything unusual happen here whilst you did live here?"

"No monsieur, I'm sorry." His shoulders came back down and he waved me off.

"Madame Giry will be in charge of your lodging then. Rehearsals for Faust begin in a week. Madame eyed the man with distaste, but led me away and out the door.

"I do wish the new managers would handle this place with more care. They don't know how to run an opera house."

"There are two of them?" I asked, somewhat horrified at the thought of another awful man like that running such a wonderful place.

"Firmin and Moncharmin, yes. That, who you just met, was Firmin."

She led me though a few corridors and through a less refined part of the house. It could go for a good cleaning. We soon stopped in front of another door that beheld more wonders behind its hinges.

"This is where you will be staying. My daughter, Meg, will help you get settled and introduce you to some of the girls."

"Madame, you say that you knew my father?" I inquired just as she placed her hand on the brass doorknob. She paused and drew her hand back.

"I did. He was a good man." She said cautiously.

"Could I then, stay where we did when we lived here?" In the lower floors?"

"I," she hesitated. "I don't know if that would be wise."

"Oh, but why not?" I asked. "Plenty of other people used to live down there too."

"And a plenty lot of it has changed since you were a little girl, Christine." She looked down the hall hesitantly, as if looking for an eavesdropper. There was no one there.

"Fine. I'll make the arrangements with the managers, but any other persuasions might be out of my hands." I nodded, still confused though. Other persuasions? What does she mean by that?

Once we were downstairs, Madame Giry left me to get settled, casting one final skeptical glance around the quarters. I walked around my old home. All of the rooms had been left untouched and had a thick layer of dust on the floors and furniture. I'm surprised they haven't used the rooms for opera employees, but who am I to say anything. I got my home back, I'm content.

Every room I went into looked untouched, until I came to the music room. I remember sitting with Papa at our piano while he played and singing for hours at a time. I remember the long nights he spent doing nothing but writing music while I sat against the wall and played with some dolls that mother made before she died. Such happy things happened in these rooms.

I looked around the room. Everything was dusted and neatly put away, but the piano was missing and a large portion of the sheet music that Papa composed was also gone. Some of the music was left so I put the rest of it in a drawer of the desk that would have sat next to the piano, were it here.

Once the music was put away from any unwanted thieves, I looked around the vaguely familiar apartment and broke down.

Why did my father have to go? He was a good man. Many people listened to his music and he was well known for it. Many people would grieve for his death, but nobody would give a second thought to his poor little daughter left alone in the streets of Paris. If not for Madame Giry… I do not even want to dwell on what might've happened.

"Must you cry so incessantly?" a powerful angry voice asked.

I froze and slowly wiped the tears from my cheeks.

"Why are you in my home?" the voice asked, sending a ripple of fear through me. I gripped the sides of my dress and stood, looking around for the owner of the voice. He seemed not to be anywhere.

"Have you no answer?" The voice boomed. I shivered when I realized the voice was emitting from the mirrors, the floors and the very walls of the room. The cracks between the floorboards and in between the bricks all became filled with the angry baritone voice.

"Monsieur, I lived here when – when I was a child."

"That gives you no right to come. It is my home now."

"Monsieur where are you? Can you at least come out so that I can see you and speak to you face to face?"

The voice let out a tortured laugh. "It would take a great deal of courage to speak to my face. I do not believe you are quite ready for the challenge."

"Then can you at least tell me what happened to the piano? And the music that was with it?"

"If you must know, I have them. They belong to me as does this room and all other adjoining rooms. So if you'd gladly leave, I would be gratified." The voice said with a growl. The piano I do not mind, he may keep that, as I cannot play. But the music does _not_ belong to him.

"Monsieur," I said, anger overwhelming any remaining fear that was left in my body. "That music does _not _belong to you. If anybody it belongs to me. I do not mind the piano, but the music stays, as do I, in these rooms."

"Oh really?" the voice asked angrily, an almost livid tone gracing the beautiful voice. I mentally slapped myself. "And what makes you start to even believe that theory?"

I wanted to stop and just get my music back and go along with my tasks, but I could tell I wasn't going to get it back without a fight.

"My father was Gustave Daaé. He wrote that music, did he not?"

"Your father was a great musician." His voice softened, if only a bit. "I should like to meet him."

I tightened my grip on my dress. Tears threatened to come back, but I held them back.

"You can't."

"And why not?"

"He – he's dead."

Silence. The voice didn't speak, I didn't make a sound. Everything seemed to stop. The words that were on the tips of our tongues, refused to ebb out of our mouths however much we tried to push them out.

"I'm sorry." The voice said rather nonchalantly. I waited for more. I waited for another nasty comment of feelingless condolence, but none came. After another minute of waiting, I'd decided the man must have left.

The rooms were sad looking. The floor's dust left my footprints clearly embedded on the wood. As I cleaned and dusted, I pondered about the voice. He'd hinted nothing about himself except that he lived in the bowels of the opera house. I paused and looked up, realizing he could be watching me right at this moment and I may never know. I shivered, shrugged the thought off and continues cleaning.

I finally got finished around dinner time and realized there was no food. I would have to go to the market.

I went to the bedroom and was in the doorway about to leave when I looked over my shoulder. There was a tall stack of parchment on the freshly cleansed desk. I slowly made my way to the desk, affirming my assumption. On the desk laid my father's missing music. Maybe this mysterious man wasn't all that bad after all. Then again, I don't know anything about him.

The pen made a scratching noise as I wrote a simple note on a scrap of paper.

_Thank you. –Christine_

I laid the note next to the music, hoping he'd receive it, or at least acknowledge it, whoever he was.


	2. Chapter 2

**Erik's POV**

Having the girl live near me would be irritating. Unless new rumors spread through the opera, she would be a minor annoyance. This kindness was not for her, bur for the girl's sake, but for her father. The man was a talented musician and I respected his music, though I'd never met him in person. I never meet many people in person.

She made a bunch of noise when she cleaned. I didn't bother going back to my organ, for all of the commotion, but decided to read. Being only one floor below the girl, I supposed I'd have to get used to more noise than usual. There was a plus side though. At least I couldn't hear Carlotta's screeching, or, I'm sorry, singing as some people seemed to mistakenly call it.

After four hours of the banging of falling items, there was quiet. Curious, I ventured up a floor to check on the girl. From the mirror, she didn't seem to be there, so I opened the mirror and stepped into the now-clean room. She'd done a good job of repairing the dusty old apartment to its former glory.

I glanced around my, er, her rooms and my eyes fell upon the stack of music that I'd returned earlier that day while she wasn't paying attention. Next to it was a note

_Thank you _

_-Christine_

I smirked and pulled out a piece of parchment from the drawer of the desk. We could play this game of passing notes.

_You're welcome, this once_

I paused, contemplating whether or not to put down my name.

_ -Erik_

**Christine's POV**

I'd used a fourth of the money left from Papa to buy groceries for the week. Good thing there's only two weeks before the auditions for the next opera.

After putting all of the food away in the cupboards, I went back to the bedroom to see if the note was gone. It wasn't but next to it was another note.

_You're welcome, this once_

_-Erik_

The message splayed across the yellowing old parchment in neat spindly cursive. The pen got moved on to p of a stack that also got moved out of its drawer onto the surface of the desk. I could only take it as a sign. I took the next page of parchment and wrote.

_So you do have a name, Erik_

_-Christine_

I left the note and took the music to put it away with the rest of it and decided to go explore the opera house. It was my home again, anyways now and everyone is or should be asleep by now. I made a quick sandwich and wrapped it in paper to bring with me.

During my explorations, I found nothing of extraordinary interest. After getting over the initial lavishness of the décor, there was really nothing but empty cold rooms filled with statues, books and empty chairs. I started from the chapel and was nearly at the roof already. I'd have to have been five hours since I left and it was almost dawn.

The pre dawn was causing a yellow-orange glow to be spread across the sky. The summer air was relatively cool as I sat under Apollo's lyre and ate my sandwich. The sun had finally come up by the time I finished and the city had begun to wake up.

* * *

><p>When I got back to my rooms, it was seven in the morning. I'd encountered a few people on the way down, receiving a few funny looks presumably because nobody had ever seen me before. The first thing I did when I got back was go to the bedroom. Sure enough, there was a note waiting. I found myself anticipating it all the while I was traveling down.<p>

I hurriedly picked up the not, discarding my cloak on the bed without care. Why was I waiting so for these brief notes? I suppose, besides Madame Giry and the manager, Erik was the only person I know.

_Everyone has a name Mademoiselle. Do you not sleep?_

_-Erik_

I wrote another note to this man I knew nothing about, but why did I?

_I could not sleep if I tried to. There are many things to think about._

_ -Christine_

I opened the old chest that laid in the corner and cleaned out the few books that resided in it, placing them on the floor next to it. I placed the notes in along with a title page labeled Erik's Notes.

I had nothing to do for the rest of the day, so I laid in bed with the blankets pulled up to my neck and attempted to catch up with the sleep that I'd missed that night. I lay staring at the ceiling for a long time, silent tears running down my face and dampening the pillow, not once feeling the tiredness that should be overwhelming by now.

After a few hours, I thought I heard an organ. The melody emitting from it was smooth and slow, even lonely sounding at times. Yet it escalated to sound angry and forceful in some parts. Once in a while it sounds to be full of what I can only describe as lust. The notes made their way and wrapped themselves around me until sitting in my stomach where they sat there burning and twisting. I let the music lull me to sleep and fell into a fit of nightmares.

**Erik's POV**

After a few hours of composing, I went back up. I found myself anticipating notes from this girl. It's the first person close to a friend that I've had in years, besides Nadir.

The girl was gone. At this time of night? Not even night anymore, it was three o'clock in the morning.

_So you do have a name, Erik._

_-Christine_

I replied.

_Everyone has a name Mademoiselle. Do you not sleep?_

_-Erik_

Finding nothing else to do, I went back down to my lair and composed for another strand of hours. Having no need to break for sleep or food, composing was how I let most, if not all, of my emotions out. There was no one to speak to, beside Nadir and I wasn't going to speak about my emotions to that fool.

A few hours later, I paused. I thought I'd heard someone crying out. I took my cloak and wrapped it around my neck. Just as I was about to ascend, Nadir, speak of the devil, entered on his high horse.

"And just where are you going at the break of dawn? Any sensible person would be asleep."

I rolled my eyes. "Since when, you fool, have you known me to be a sensible person?" I shall be back in a half an hour. If you plan to grace me with your _wonderful_ presence, put a pot of tea on to sooth the headache that will inevitably follow."

I left without saying another word. When I reached Christine's quarters, I found her jerking around in her bed and whimpering.

"No please, come back." She cried into her pillow.

I didn't dare come in, but I had to wake her up. One of the reasons I didn't sleep; my nights were plagued with torturous nightmares about my past.

"Christine." She didn't break. "Christine, wake up." I said, louder this time.

Christine's eyes snapped open and she shot up, her hair falling in a mess around her shoulders. It was only a second before she started to cry, pulling her knees to her chest and placing her forehead on her knees. This was the extent that I would go. When a woman started to cry, that was a red flag.I turned and left to my lair, when I heard faint singing.

_I remember tears streaming down my face when you said, "I'll never let you go"_

_When all those shadows almost killed my light_

_I remember I said, "Don't leave me here alone"_

_But all that's dead, and gone, and passed tonight_

_Just close your eyes_

_The sun is going down_

_You'll be alright_

_No one can hurt you now_

_Come morning light_

_You and I'll be safe and sound_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Song: Safe and Sound by Taylor Swift<strong>_


	3. Chapter 3

**I would like everybody who reads this to take into account that in most every version of Phantom, we never get to hear Erik laugh (Unless of course it is for some maniacal reason).**

**Erik's POV**

I wanted to go see who the voice belonged to, although I already have a hunch, but the longer I left Daroga waiting, the longer he would interrogate me, and that was something I wouldn't wish upon my worst enemies. I'd insist on something much worse.

"Where, pray tell, did you go at this time in the morning? As the entire opera house is asleep, I'd assume you'd have no one to irritate." Nadir said, as I entered my kitchen and took a cup of the scalding liquid, discarding my cloak on the floor somewhere behind me.

I glared at him, a very thoroughly exchanged gesture between the two of us. "What they get, comes to them for valid reasons, I assure you." I said, letting the burning liquid slip down my throat. "I assure you also, that not everyone is asleep. Not everyone can sleep as easily as you can after a night to the brothel."

Nadir shrugged and set his cup down. "Excuse me for wanting the joys that every man should enjoy in his life. I see you're not too keen on the idea."

"I have what's left of my dignity, Persian. I think I'll hang onto it for as long as I can."

"Well then, you still haven't answered my question."

"I don't think I have, have I? Well, I think you don't need to know. You've been so nosy for so long, maybe we should break you of that habit. Starting with knowing my whereabouts all the time."

Nadir downed the rest of his cup and gathered his things. "Suit yourself, Erik, but someday, whatever you're doing will stab you in the back, and it won't be pretty."

"Right." I said, finishing my own tea.

**Christine's POV**

After waking up, I couldn't go back to sleep. Grateful that I'd somehow waken up in the first place, I had no desire to fall back into that haunting string of nightmares. Needing something to occupy myself with, I looked through all of the old books and found a blank leather bound journal. Perfect.

I wrote. I wrote for hours. Nothing else around me was visible. It just was the pen as it scratched along the paper as the words came out of their own will. I wrote of everything. My papa and what I remembered about my old home. I wrote about Erik, and his voice, and our notes. I wrote about how he was my only friend. I wrote about how I was afraid to even close my eyes for fear of seeing those horrible images dance behind my lids again. I wrote until there was nothing to write about and then I put down the pen. Looking at the small bedside clock, I saw that it was well past three in the afternoon. Had it really been that long? I looked at the journal and saw how it was indeed filled a fourth of the way already.

I decided to make soup for dinner, but could only push the noodles around the bowl until my stomach forced me to eat, growling in protest of being without food for the entire day.

The next note was waiting for me when I walked back into my room.

_You sing?_

I blushed, despite how the inquiry made no advances.

_Singing for me is very private. I've only ever sand with my Papa. No one else has ever heard me sing. That was a song he taught me when I had nightmares about mother._

I went up, cloying to find something to do, finding something to that month's opera, _Le Prophète _was playing in a half an hour. I found Mme. Giry and asked if I'd have to buy a ticket to see it. She shook her head and replied.

"If you're going to audition, you might as well see a show before you do."

"Where shall I sit?" I asked, knowing that the backstage area would be incredibly crowded.

She bit the inside of her cheek, thinking. "Have you met anyone? While you were here, I mean."

"You, that one manager, Moncharmin, if I recall correctly, and Erik."

Mme. Giry's eyes widened considerably, and I noticed them flicker to my throat for a split second.

"He and you are the only people I really even know. I can't wait to meet the rest of the ballet."

She looked over me questionably; finally she motioned for me to follow her with the slight tilt of her cane. We travelled down a few corridors before stopping at a door with the number five etched on a golden plate.

"The seats were all sold out, but this is the only open one in the entire opera." She turned to me and spoke once more. "If you're telling the truth, then nothing shall be feared. If you aren't, let's hope you'll learn your lesson."

**Madame Giry's POV**

Knowing Erik to be incapable of murdering a mere girl of eighteen, I let her in the box and left her, questioning myself and once almost going back to retrieve her. If she wasn't telling the truth, she would learn.

**Erik's POV**

When I got to my box, I was mad. Someone was in my box.

I was about to not-so-nicely help them out of the box, until I realized the mane of chocolate curls looked vaguely familiar. Christine. The look on her face as she watched the opera was of an exited child, almost comical. Full of excitement, wonder and amazement. Exactly what I looked like when I saw my first opera.

"Is this your first opera?" I asked.

Christine nodded, still transfixed on the opera, hardly even acknowledging the question. I laughed and she snapped out of it, looking around.

"I've never heard you laugh before." She said quietly. That stopped me mid-thought. I haven't laughed for… ever. The last time I'd laughed was at least months ago. Even then, it was at the stupidity of some person in a book. At fiction. The last time I'd laughed in and for real life was too long ago to count the time.

"Erik?" she said, wondering if I was still there.

I decided it would be better not to reply and backed back into the shadows and headed back down to the lair.

The rug in my library should be worn from how many times I've walked back and forth on it tonight, but it still sits there, together as ever, mocking me at how broken and confused I am. What happened tonight? It was strange. Like a bunch of knots in my stomach unknotted themselves, but other new ones formed to take their place.

How had I gone from one second merely tolerating Christine to allowing her into my head? How had I gone from letting her stay for a favor to her father to wanting her around? How had I gone from allowing her to enjoying her presence?

All I knew is I couldn't let this thing go too far. What would happen if she ever saw me? For what I really was, without my mask, without the ghastly rumors and the reputation that had built up over the years? Would she, could she, still accept me?

**So guys, I know this is random, but I was thinking about how everybody says never say never. But what about the good nevers? Like Love Never Dies? Do you honestly want me to say LOVE ALWAYS DIES?! I didn't think so. I'm going to tell you a very wise quote from none other than one of my BFFs.**

** NEVER SAY NEVER, ALWAYS SAY ALWAYS, SOMETIMES SAY SOMETIMES.**


	4. Chapter 4

**REVIEWS GREATLY APPRECIATED**

**Christine's POV**

The remaining weeks passed by quickly, without word from Erik. I had worried myself for the next few days, almost wearing through the corner of my dress that I kept rubbing between my fingers in concern. I tried going through the notes and finding something offensive; I tried going over our few conversations in my mind, but nothing occurred to stand out. Finally I gave up trying to figure it out and took comfort in the fact that the organ still played at night.

I stood on stage next to a pretty blonde and a dark haired girl, wringing my hands and tapping my foot in anxiety. The blonde girl noticed my nervousness and smiled kindly at me.

"You don't have to worry, the managers are" she paused. "Well, they're not the best at deciding who performs, so Monsieur Raer will be auditioning the singers and Madame Giry will be auditioning the dancers." She said Madame's name slower than the rest of her sentence, as though she wasn't used to calling her by her title.

"My name's Meg Giry by the way," she said, holding out her hand.

"Christine Daaé." I said quietly, still overcome with nerves, not bothering to take her hand.

Her eyes widened and she cocked her head. "You're the daughter of that violinist? My mother used to take me to see him on free nights. They were friends you know."

I nodded, but didn't much pay attention. She saw my anxiety once again and decided not to hassle me anymore. Her hand patted my back. "You'll do fine," she whispered enthusiastically and drifted away to find another ballerina.

It was a few minutes until they called my name after a couple of ballerinas had taken their turn. I breathed in deeply through my nose and let it out, walking on and taking position center stage. Madame Giry's face wasn't as kind as I remember. Though the encouragement was there, her mouth and eyes were twisted in a calculating way, so as to pick out any and every mistake.

I tried. I tried so hard to do every turn right, every step on beat to the music, but none of it felt accurate. I felt as though I was stumbling around on stage making a fool of myself in front of all these perfect dancers. When the last note of the song echoed around the theatre, I held my breath, though my lungs begged for air after the strong routine.

Madame's eyebrow rose. "It'll be some work, but there's potential in there, Christine Daaé, I can see it."

I searched for some lie, for some false note in her voice to tip me off about fraudulence, but none presented themselves. It was truly a genuine statement. I smiled, curtsied rather awkwardly, and exited stage, trying to avoid the bustle of all of the awaiting people. Snickers could be heard as I passed and I tried to ignore them, concentrate on my path back downstairs. Somewhere in the wave of people, Meg was at my side, congratulating me. I nodded, listening for a few moments, but left at the first opportunity.

I wanted to go somewhere quiet. Somewhere where no one would be there to bother me.

I trekked down to my quarters, wanting to do nothing but bury my face in a pillow and escape the red heat that was crawling up my cheeks.

**Erik's POV**

_Why was she not auditioning for a vocal part _was all I could thing about as Christine danced to the main number for Hannibal. With the amount of potential her voice had, I had assumed she would at least try out for a minor lead, but she instead stumbled through the corps' part.

I could not lie, she wasn't a great dancer, or a good one for that matter, but she did honestly try. Madame Giry, I could tell, was contemplating on what to say, but when I heard the words come out of her mouth I couldn't help but roll my eyes. Why did she try to sugar coat such things? When I watched Christine barrel through the snickering sea of ballerinas, I took my leave, intent on setting things straight.

I made my way through the maze of tunnels that aided me in getting around the theatre faster and got to Christine's rooms before she did. Not knowing how much time I'd have, I quickly pulled out a piece of parchment and scribbled the first note in months to her.

_You're a horrible dancer. _I wrote, not sugar coating it like Madame Giry had. There was no point in useless lies.

I sat behind the mirror and waited for Christine to come back, just to make sure she would not take my comment the wrong way. I waited a while longer, but after a few more minutes, I'd decided that maybe she'd gotten sidetracked and decided to leave.

On my descent back down, I hear one of the alarms to my traps going off somewhat close. I sighed, not in the mood to deal with anyone, and changed my path to the alarm, taking my time getting there.

Upon getting to the trap, I found it to be the torture chamber. I smirked. Whoever got stuck in here would not _think _on coming near again. Being trapped in the sweltering heat would cure anyone of their curiosity.

Opening the panel in the wall that led to the room, I braced myself for the change from the cool air to the vivid heat. Curled up against a mirror, a woman sat unconscious, passed out from the heat. _Easier for me to deal with,_ I thought.

As I approached, the features of the woman became more prominent and my heart started to beat faster. No, I tried to tell myself. I willed my feet to go faster, but their tempo didn't increase any faster than the previous speed.

I picked up Christine and carried her out of the chamber. Dry tear marks marred her cheeks and she was burning up as we came within reach of her rooms. I placed her on the bed and put a cool compact on her head, attempting to stifle her temperature. She shivered and unconsciously grasped for blankets that were at her feet. I pulled them up to her shoulders and left to retrieve some medical supplies from the lair.

After giving Christine the medicines, I sat behind the mirror and waited for any signs of her improvement. I could only hope now that she got better soon.

At that thought, I questioned myself. I knew with how strong of drugs I gave her that she would recover within a fortnight at most. Still I couldn't help the guilt that flooded my chest when I thought that, had she stayed in the chamber any longer, she would have suffered far more than she did now. The thought of such an innocent girl getting hurt at my expense made me flinch and my heart start working at double rate. I may be many things, but I'm not heartless.

I got up and walked around the maze of tunnels in order to calm my frenzied heart rate. Still I questioned myself. I've never cared so much even for people who probably deserve it most.

_You just want to preserve her voice, _a voice in my head told me.

_Not true, _I shot back, _she's as close a friend I've ever had. _I sadly thought about how we weren't so very close at all, but yet the fact was true.

_You have Nadir, _the voice said. I scoffed.

_The man is more intent on critiquing me than being my friend._

_Whatever you say…_

_GO AWAY. _I thought.

Within seconds the irritating voice retreated into silence. As I walked, I wondered on what the voice said. Was I really just attempting to preserve her voice to get rid of Carlotta? Then I thought of all the things running through my head as I carried the girl to her room. How I wouldn't have anyone to 'talk' to if she left. Even when I knew she would not die, I still feared.

When I got back to Christine's quarters, she was sitting on her bed writing in an old journal and blinking away tears. Her cheeks still were a heated pink with fever.

"Christine." I said quietly, not meaning to scare her.

She looked up and wiped away tears. "Am I really that horrible a dancer?"

"You just got stuck in blistering heat and you're asking about that?" I asked disbelievingly.

She said nothing.

"You are a horrible dancer." I repeated in an indifferent voice. "But you have an extraordinary voice." Her pen paused on the page. "Exquisite in tone and shape, in fact, in almost every detail. But it is obviously untrained." I paused, thinking if I would do this or not.

"Without training, your voice, though beautiful, will never reach the heights for which I know it is destined. If you will allow me, I can help you, but there is one condition. I have never taken on any students, nor have I ever wanted to. But if you do choose to be under my guidance, I implore you to be tolerant as I am not a very patient man, and I will attempt to be patient as well."

She looked around, half expecting to see me. Slowly she started to nod her head.

"Yes, Erik, I would like that." She said timidly.

"Good then, we shall start tomorrow." With that, I left.


	5. Chapter 5

Erik's POV

"Good, now let's go from the top of Think of Me."

I positioned my fingers over the strings to begin the aria.

"But that's Carlotta's part." Christine said, confused.

"It is." I had to restrain myself from saying 'for now'. She gave a wary look, but didn't question anymore.

"You're still not standing properly." I told her. She threw her hands up in the air.

"I can't exactly read your mind, and you won't come out, so we're stuck aren't we." She said matter of factly. In any other circumstance, that would have flared my temper, but instead I smiled. This was the first time she ever showed any signs of being annoyed at not seeing me.

"We'll make do for now. Now the beginning of the aria please."

_Think of me_

_Think of me fondly_

_When we've said goodbye_

_Remember-_

"No," I interrupted, frustrated.

"What?"

"You didn't feel it. These aren't simply words and notes that you just sing. You're singing to a lover you may never see again." She listened as if waiting for more instruction.

"You've never had a lover?" I guessed. Christine nodded her head down as she tried to conceal a blush. I sighed.

"This is not something that can be taught, Christine."

"I'm sorry."

An idea formed in my head. It would not sound as effective in the voice, but it would get us somewhere.

"Close your eyes, Christine." I commanded. The hesitation was obvious in Christine's eyes. It hurt to know that she was afraid of me, but the sadness soon turned to anger. I took a shaky breath, remembering my promise to try to be patient.

"Do you fear me so?" She shook her head.

"I'm sorry, Erik. I'm just not used too…" she trailed off, not knowing what to say.

"Me," I finished for her. "Close your eyes." My tone showed that I wasn't happy. This time she complied.

"Remember the times your father hugged you. Remember how happy it made you."

Christine smiled losing herself in the memories. It was hard for me to say what I did next. To crush the memory in order to get some emotion in her singing.

But Christine, don't forget that he's no longer with us." Her smile faltered and left. The light that once spread across her face was extinguished. I cringed.

"He's in heaven and he's still looking over me." She said.

"That's it." I said. "He's still thinking of you. Now try again."

I started the song on my violin and she began again. It was loads better this time. There was so much emotion poured out in every note. Kings would beg her to sing once they heard her sing. On the last line of the song, Christine stopped.

"What happened? You sounded wonderful."

"I'm not comfortable with the upper register yet."

"But you will be." I assured her. "You've already got a finer voice than half of the company. And soon, sooner than I ever thought, you'll be singing not just down here, but onstage."

"Erik, I don't know if I'm ready for all of that. It's such a fast transition."

"You will be. You already are in my view, you just don't believe in yourself enough. You're destined for things you can hardly imagine Christine, don't doubt it for a minute."

She nodded, though still unsure. "I'll leave you tonight to rest. Take the medicine I've left, you're still flushed. The fever will be gone in a matter of days. Tomorrow rehearsals will begin. Listen to Madam Giry only for dance instruction. Leave your vocal training to me. Tomorrow night we'll continue." She nodded as I finished off the list.

"Goodnight Erik."

"Goodnight."

Weeks passed and rehearsals droned on. Finally the first night of performances was upon us.

"The last verse of the aria, Christine."

_Flowers fade_

_The fruits of summer fade_

_They have their seasons so do we_

_But please promise me_

_That sometimes you will think of me!_

After a moment of silence, Christine spoke. "Erik?"

"You're ready."

"For the chorus?" Christine asked. It would probably be best not for her to know my plans.

"To make angels weep. Now, don't forget to focus on your steps. They need to be on time with the other ballerina's. Heaven forbid you topple onstage."

"Erik,"

"Hmm"

"Thank you, for everything."

Christine's POV

From the wings, I watched as Carlotta walked onstage. We had all stuffed cotton in our ears beforehand to muffle the horrid notes that emerge from her mouth. Only a few notes passed her lips before she began itching her head. Soon the wig was on the floor as Carlotta furiously itched at her head and laughs echoed around the theater.

"Christine Daaé?!" A frantic voice called my name somewhere behind me. I turned and saw the pinched faced manager barreling through the crowd of ballerinas and actors.

"Here!" I called him over, waving my hands above the crowd.

"Christine, you need to change quickly. The costume is laid out in the ballet dormitory. Madame Giry will be there to help. Quick now, we're losing time."

I nodded my head as if I knew what was going on and went to the ballet dormitory. Most of the girls slept here, but on account of me living downstairs, I never went there very often. Upon entry, I expected to find the next scene's ballet costume. In its place on one of the unoccupied beds was a white silken dress identical to the one Carlotta was wearing, but this one built for a slender body. Madame Giry helped me into the dress and did my hair up.

When the last of the jewels were secured in my hair, Madame departed to help the ballerinas through the sudden transition to the third act ballet. I stared at my reflection in the mirror. My face was pale and my hands trebled slightly as I touched the jewels in my hair. A tear slipped down my cheek.

"Why the tears Christine?" Erik's voice filled the room.

"I'm not ready Erik. I can't do this."

"You can. We've rehearsed these songs."

"I'm scared."

"Christine, I believe in you. And, as soon as they hear you sing, everybody out there will too."

"TWO MINUTES!" a stagehand called through the door.

"Christine-" Erik prodded.

I shook my head. "I can't believe I'm doing this." I made my way to the stage.

"For heaven's sake Christine, you're supposed to be onstage now." Madame Giry pushed me on to the polished stage floor. All of the faces in the audience were waiting. _Waiting for what? _I thought as my queue passed. I was paralyzed. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think.

Erik's voice resounded in my head. _Christine, I believe in you. _Why did that matter to me more than everybody else believing in me? I nodded slightly to Monsieur Reyer, who restarted my queue.

Before the last note echoed around the theatre the entire audience was on their feet clapping. Even scattered whistles could be heard from the rafters if one cared to listen hard enough. I bowed deeply and went offstage, being practically attacked by Meg.

"You did _amazing_! I didn't know you could sing!" she wrapped me in a bear hug.

"Thank you." I smiled.

"Now you've got an admirer to see to." Meg giggled. I looked at her, confused but smiling. She stepped aside and revealed a man I've never met before.

He bowed slightly and took my hand in his, placing a feather light kiss on it.

"Remember me?" he asked.

**HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!**


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